


Light It Up

by Skylark



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Boy Band, Alternate Universe - Popstar, Anxiety Attacks, Awkward Conversations, Background Tajima/Hanai, Caretaking, Dancing, Developing Relationship, Exhaustion, Falling In Love, Fanservice, Friendship, Gen, K-pop References, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Overworking, POV Alternating, Parties, Pre-debut, Ship Pandering, Shyness, Singing, Skinship, Touching, Training, Video & Computer Games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4140513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark/pseuds/Skylark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>"I want to sing," Mihashi says, and his voice is clear and strong. It's the only thing he's ever been sure about in his life.</p>
  <p>Abe nods.  "Me too," he says. "But if you want to sing in this business, there are some things you just have to do."</p>
</blockquote><br/>The oofuri k-pop AU that literally nobody asked for.
            </blockquote>





	1. Medaka no Mita Niji

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moon_Blitz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moon_Blitz/gifts).



> Thank you so much for allowing me to write you a fic in a setting you're not familiar with. Here's context:
> 
> 1) In Asia, entertainment companies are always searching for people whom they can turn into idols. They can be recruited many different ways; some are discovered through winning contests (some run by the company and some not) and others are picked up off the street—there's even international scouting.
> 
> Once a potential idol is recruited and signs with their parent company, they enter a pre-debut training period. They're taught to sing, dance, and whatever else the company thinks they might be good at (rapping, MCing, etc.). Their image is also shaped (e.g., losing weight or changing hairstyle). They may be given a stage name. 
> 
> The pre-debut period lasts longer for some than it does for others. It can range from months to years.
> 
> The Asian pop industry is intensely capitalistic, and entertainment companies actively/blatantly encourage destroying the "fourth wall" that separates idol from fan. They also expect their idols to give up everything for the sake of making the fans more emotionally engaged and devoted, and therefore more willing to spend their money. Idols are pushed to sacrifice their privacy, their personality and appearance (parent companies often strongly encourage their idols to undergo cosmetic plastic surgery, although the idols aren't supposed to talk about it), and even their health to "be closer" to the fans. It's...not really a good thing.
> 
> 2) A countertenor is [this](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Countertenor). They sound like [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=76hmVRNJ19g). Countertenors are rare. I don't think Mihashi's seiyuu is actually a countertenor, but I thought it fit his character.
> 
> 3) The industry has realized that fandom loves slash, and so the members of boyband groups are actually given pairing assignments and they have to act intimate with each other. The practice is called "skinship" or "ship pandering".
> 
> 4) I didn't know what to do about honorifics so I just left them out.

The last member of the group hunches his shoulders and shuffles his feet, his body language incongruous with the bright orange hairstyle they've chosen for him.

"What's your name?" Hanai asks. He's been assigned as the group's leader, an all-around performer with a solid background in hip-hop and a voice like velvet. He's tall and broad-shouldered with a professional, calm aura. He's not frightening but the other boy flinches anyway, eyes darting to the corners of the room as if looking for avenues of escape.

"Mi—hashi," he mumbles, his gaze dropping to his shoes.

"You must be a singer," Abe says, scanning over his lanky form. He's too twitchy to be a dancer, not enough presence to be a rapper or comedian. Mihashi's eyes jerk up with surprise, and Abe nods. "I'm right?"

"A singer!" Tajima cries out, bounding over. Mihashi shrinks into himself but holds his ground, letting Tajima circle him and examine him from all angles. Tajima leans forward to brush his bangs up and stare into his eyes, and Mihashi warbles out a small surprised noise. 

"You have a good face," Tajima announces, grinning before stepping back. He gives Hanai a thumbs up. Mihashi's shoulders visibly slump with relief.

"What range?" Abe says, catching Mihashi's attention again.

"C-countertenor," Mihashi says, and Abe can hear it then in the soft, high tone of his voice. Abe's eyes widen. "A-and I have, um. Perfect...pitch. But I don't...think I'm really supposed to be here."

Abe shares a glance with Hanai. He can feel excitement curling in his chest. "They made you change your appearance, right?" Abe says. "Your hair, your clothes. Surgery?" Mihashi nods, but then shakes his head at the last one. Abe can understand why they would leave his looks alone, though; his face has a round, guileless charm to it, and his eyes are naturally large, ringed with soft lashes.

"If they've already put that much work into you, then that means the company thinks you're worth something," he says. Mihashi just shrinks into himself. "How long have you been in training?"

"Two years," Mihashi says. His voice is barely above a whisper now. "But my last group k-kicked me out."

Hanai steps forward, worried. "Which group?"

"Mihoshi."

Tajima whistles. "Hey, isn't that the group that got disbanded?"

"It's my fault," Mihashi says. "I couldn't get along with everyone. There was...fighting."

Abe raises an eyebrow. He can't really imagine that the cringing guy in front of him caused a whole group to break up. "Management has its reasons for doing things," he says. "They probably wanted to try a different image, or something." Abe steps forward, cocking his head to try and catch Mihashi's eyes. "You sing, you said. Why don't you show us?"

Mihashi looks up. "Right now?"

Abe shrugged. "You said you have perfect pitch, right? Do something a capella. Anything you want."

The others step back, giving Mihashi a little room. He stands in the center of them all, glancing from one face to the next, and then takes a deep breath. "O-okay." His back straightens, his feet shuffle shoulder width apart, and his eyes close.

Abe recognizes the song from the second note. There are only a few songs that open with a soaring major seventh interval, and of those, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" is the best. 

He shivers as the song washes over him. Mihashi's English is strongly accented but still understandable, his phrasing deft and delicate. There's practice there, years of training and effort behind Mihashi's clear, sweet voice. But there's something special in the sound, too, that no amount of training could impart: a sense of passion and urgency. Mihashi sings like there's nothing else he can imagine himself doing, like he'll do anything if you'll only listen to his voice.

He gets through the whole song without interruption, and even after the last note fades into silence, no one has moved. Finally, Tajima breaks into applause and the spell breaks.

"How did they scout you?" Abe demands, storming up to him. He can hear it already in his head, how easily Hanai's voice is going to dovetail with Mihashi's. He wants them to sing right now, wishes they had their debut date set already. "Did you win a competition?"

"Um, no, but I...came in second. A lot."

"How much is a lot?"

"Fourteen...times."

Abe just stares.

"Sorry," Mihashi says. "I'll—"

"We are the luckiest group in the world," Abe announces, cutting him off. He reaches out to put his hands on Mihashi's shoulders, shaking him a little. He can't stop himself from grinning. "Welcome to Nishiura."

\--

Mihashi blinks. Abe is in his dorm room, the contents of one suitcase strewn across Kanou's bed and three more bags sitting by his feet.

"Abe?" he stammers. He looks around first to make sure that he's not in the wrong room, but no—there are his bedsheets, his dirty clothes in the hamper, his worn headphones and stacks of CDs. "What's going on?"

"I was assigned to you," he says, giving Mihashi a confused look. "I've already used some of the hangers in the closet but I didn't touch any of your things, so I assumed it would be fine."

"But..." Mihashi licks his lips, and then discreetly rests a hand against the wall, feeling a little faint. "Where's Kanou?"

"You're not in Mihoshi anymore," Abe says, "you're in Nishiura. Why would you keep rooming with him?"

"Because," Mihashi says, but his voice trails off. He doesn't know how to tell Abe about all the time he spent with Kanou, how they'd stay up late watching old movies and share favorite albums with each other. Kanou was the only one who kept talking to him when the rest of the group was falling apart. When Mihashi would cry himself to sleep, Kanou would politely turn over in his bed and pretend he couldn't hear.

Abe waits for an answer, but when none seems forthcoming he shrugs, turning back to his suitcase. "He's still part of the company," he says. "It's not like you'll never see him again. Besides, it's more important that we get comfortable with each other."

He lifts a stack of shirts from the bed and moves to Kanou's— _Abe's_ —dresser. Mihashi's eyes track him as he moves. Abe is muscular and classically handsome, and he always seems to know what to do next. He admires him, even as he despairs of ever being so composed. 

_I shouldn't be here,_ he thinks for the thousandth time. His hand lifts from the doorframe, and he's about to slink out of the room, but Abe turns and stares at him.

"What are you doing?" he asks. "Get in here. We had a lot of practice, you must be tired. It's important to rest."

Mihashi sidesteps to his bed and sits down gingerly, watching as Abe settles in. He's terribly organized, lining up his books on the desk with care and using military corners when he makes his bed. "So since we're partners," Abe is saying, "I thought I'd lay down some ground rules."

Mihashi nods, uncomprehending.

"I know some guys go right into it," he says, "but I'd prefer if we took it a little slower. Get to know each other first, you know? I don't know if you're the kind of person who likes to share beds, but I'd rather you didn't, at least not from the start."

"Sharing...beds?" Mihashi echoes.

Abe stops digging through the duffel bag by the foot of his bed. He lifts his head, and—his brow is furrowed. Is he angry? Mihashi leans back a little before he can stop himself.

"I'm talking about skinship," he says. "You were assigned to me."

Mihashi feels his stomach go cold. "Oh," he whispers.

Abe frowns. "You're looking at me like I'm gonna jump you," he mumbles, turning away to try and hide a sudden blush. "Jeez."

"No, no," Mihashi stammers. "I know you're not, I know about...that. It's just..."

"Look, it's not like I'm excited about it either," Abe sighs. "But it doesn't have to be a lot. Even just an arm around my shoulders would be fine to start with. Holding hands. That kind of thing."

This is what got Mihashi into trouble in his last group. He couldn't bring himself to do it; he flinched and stumbled every time his partner Hatake tried to touch him. "Abe," he says, and his voice sounds small and drained. "I can't."

It's silent for a while. Abe turns to look at him, folding his arms, and Mihashi shrinks further into himself. He watches Abe's fingers drum restlessly against his bicep, studying him from across the room.

"Can I sit next to you?" he asks at last.

Numbly, Mihashi nods. The mattress bounces a little when Abe sits down, companionably close but not intrusive.

"You said you've been in training for two years," Abe says. Mihashi flinches; he already knows he's taken too long, he's reminded every time he walks down the hall and sees new and younger faces. But the scolding he's expecting doesn't come. 

"What did you come here to do, Mihashi?"

Abe doesn't seem angry, just concerned, which is still uncomfortable but at least easier for Mihashi to deal with. Mihashi looks down at his hands, which are clenched into fists in his lap.

Every day for the past two years, Mihashi gets up at five in the morning. He cycles through dance training, voice training, acting training, anything the company has him scheduled for, working without pause until the evening, sometimes past midnight. He doesn't eat much; none of them do. He's spent the last two years running on a heady mix of fear and hope, listening to the little voice inside him whispering the same mantra, endlessly:

"I want to sing," Mihashi says, and his voice is clear and strong. It's the only thing he's ever been sure about in his life.

Abe nods, and the corner of his mouth twitches up into a lopsided smile. It seems like Mihashi's given the right answer. He swallows, surprised by his own pleasure and relief.

"Me too," he says. "But if you want to sing in this business, there are some things you just have to do."

Abe extends his hand and lays it flat on the bed. It rests halfway between them, open and motionless. Mihashi looks at it, and then back up at Abe, who's still observing him with that quiet, waiting look.

 _I want to sing,_ he tells himself. _I want to stand on the stage._

Mihashi extends his hand, watching faint tremors shiver their way down his arms and through to his fingertips. Abe's watching it too, but he doesn't say anything.

He presses the tip of one finger to Abe's palm. It's shockingly warm in comparison to his own skin, and he jerks back, startled. Abe takes in a breath but doesn't move, his hand still lying relaxed and inviting on the familiar bedspread.

Mihashi tries again. He strokes his fingers lightly across the lines of his palm, over the swell of muscle by his thumb, up to the ends of Abe's square, strong fingers. He can feel his heart rate settling, hear Abe's breathing evening out. After the initial shock, the warmth of Abe's skin is a comfort, soothing the cold fright from his hand.

He strokes down from Abe's fingers to his wrist, watching the hand curl and relax in response. Then he presses down, pushing their palms together, his fingers curling around Abe's wrist until their grasp is interlocked.

Abe's bones feel thick and sturdy beneath his searching fingers, and Mihashi's wrist is totally encircled by Abe's larger grip.

"Your fingers are long," Abe says. His voice is soft, slipping into the moment without breaking it. "Do you play piano?"

Mihashi nods. His throat feels tight and wobbly, and he doesn't trust his voice right now. Abe's hand tightens infinitesimally against his skin and he breathes out, shaky. 

"Is this okay?" Abe says, his thumb running across the back of Mihashi's wrist. It feels...he doesn't know how it feels. He glances up and doesn't know what his face is saying; he's nervous, and overwhelmed, and he doesn't want Abe to let go of him. 

"Yes," he breathes. "It's okay. Abe."

Abe nods slowly. "I started dancing when I was six," he says, his voice gentle. "My mother was a dancer. My father is a lawyer. He always wanted me to follow in his footsteps, but—" Abe shrugs. "Things don't always work out the way we think they will," he says. "But I want to dance, more than anything."

Mihashi nods. He wonders what Abe's dancing is like. He wonders what it would be like to dance beside him, following his silent cues.

He hesitates for another moment, and then squeezes his fingers around Abe's wrist. "Partners," he murmurs.

Abe blinks, then smiles at him. It's the first time he's really seen Abe smile, and it makes his heart do a funny flop in his chest. "Yeah," Abe says. "We're partners now."


	2. Dramatic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "MV" stands for music video.
> 
> Teaser videos are often released before a group debuts to introduce the members to the general populace and also start building interest. [Here's an example of one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RJLfGhDHigo).

It isn't long before they get word of their debut date, and after that everything's a whirlwind. They have new songs to produce, new dances to learn, and several teaser videos to record.

Mihashi isn't a terrible dancer, because no one could be after two years in training. But he's by no means a natural, and his body memory is slow. There's a shy charm to his movements, the way he flicks his wrists out after finishing a spin or smiles to himself when he lands a pose, but his moves lack sharpness. To Abe's trained eye, his motions seem half-hearted, and "float" instead of grounding through the floor. 

Sometimes Mihashi stops in the middle of a routine to watch Abe move, slack-jawed. Abe has to admit that it's flattering, but it's also a bad habit.

"Wake up," he snaps, making Mihashi jump. "You can't do that on stage!"

Instantly Mihashi hunches down. "I-I know," he says. "Sorry."

Hanai walks over to the stereo and stops the track. In the silence, the tension in the room is palpable.

"I'll teach you," Tajima starts. 

Abe stretches out a hand, stopping him from moving forward. "No, I'll do it," he says. "You guys wanted to practice for your MV some more, didn't you?"

Tajima and Hanai look at the two of them, then each other. Finally Hanai shrugs. "Shout if you need any help," he says, and loops an arm around Tajima to drag him to the other side of the studio.

Mihashi's eyes are over-bright and red around the edges; it's nine at night and they've been practicing all day. Even Abe's legs are wobbly from exhaustion, but he won't admit to it. Instead he locks his knees and says, "We'll start from the second verse." He waits until Mihashi shuffles himself into position and then barks, "5, 6, 7, 8—"

After a moment Abe can tell that Mihashi isn't off-beat on purpose. His music training lets him keeps time easily. But as Abe counts he can see Mihashi start to move into the wrong step, then hesitate—then rush to finish the right move, and from then on everything is a game of panicking, sloppy catch-up.

"Stop," Abe says, massaging his temples. 

Mihashi freezes, arms splayed behind him and halfway through a step. He wobbles for a moment, arms windmilling, before he crashes to the floor.

"Oi!" Abe rushes to kneel beside him, hands skimming over Mihashi's limbs to check for injury. "Are you all right? Idiot, you didn't have to pull a ridiculous pose like that!"

"You told me to stop," Mihashi protests. His voice is thin with exhaustion, and Abe can see tears in the corners of his eyes. He feels guilty for a moment before his temper snaps.

"Use your head! Of course I wouldn't want you to fall over like that. More importantly, why haven't you gotten the steps down already? Were you even paying attention to the choreographer before?"

By this point Hanai and Tajima have crossed the room. Tajima bends down next to Mihashi, gently patting his shoulder while Hanai says, "I think we should call it a day."

Abe is keenly aware of their positions, with Mihashi on the floor and Abe shouting over him. He knows how this looks, and guilt surges again in his stomach. He glares for another moment at Mihashi, now curled into a miserable ball, and then leaps to his feet. "Fine," he grits out, "make sure Mihashi cools down properly," and then he's out the door.

\--

By the time he's reached their dorm room on the top floor, Abe already regrets everything he said. He wouldn't take it back, but he knows that Mihashi is a singer by training, not a dancer; he knows that his confidence is as fragile as his voice is strong. More than that, they're partners. How is he supposed to sell their relationship if he scares him off first?

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he's muttering to himself as he unlocks the door to their room. He slumps in his chair and gives himself ten minutes to spend on self-flagellation before he starts to prepare for bed.

An hour and a half later, Abe still can't sleep and Mihashi still hasn't come back to the room. Abe can't stop his imagination from running wild, jumping from one horrible scenario to the next, until at last he flails a hand across his nightstand and grabs his phone.

"Hanai," he says when the other end of the line picks up, "have you seen Mihashi? He hasn't come back to the room yet."

"He's hanging out in our room."

"Let me talk to him."

There's a thoughtful pause on the end of the line before Tajima's voice barges into the conversation. "Are you going to yell at him again?" Tajima asks.

"No."

"You promise?"

 _"Tajima,"_ he growls before he realizes that's counterproductive. He takes a deep breath, then lets it out. His voice is calmer when he speaks again. "I promise I won't yell at him."

There's a brief pause as Hanai and Tajima talk it over, and then Hanai says, "Okay. Hold on."

There's the distant sound of scuffling and shouting, Mihashi's distinctive warble of distress and Tajima's cheery voice saying "Come on, he can't hurt you over the phone!" before he hears the rustle of someone raising the phone to their ear.

He listens to Mihashi's soft breathing for a moment before he says, "I can hear you."

There's a soft gasp, and then dead silence. Abe sighs. "Don't hold your breath, either." The silence continues. "Look, just—come back to the room. It's weird with Tajima and Hanai listening in on our conversation."

"What's the problem with that?" Tajima shouts in the background. Abe rolls his eyes.

There's still silence on the other end of the line, but at least now he can hear the soft rush of Mihashi's breathing. Abe plucks at the edge of his bedsheet, feeling ill-footed and irritable and anxious. "You'll sleep better in your own bed," he says, trying to sound coaxing. "We have a long day tomorrow too. You have to take good care of yourself."

No response.

Abe scrubs a hand over his face. "Just come over here," he says gruffly.

"Why?" Mihashi murmurs.

"So we can talk."

Silence.

"So we can talk _properly,_ " Abe clarifies with forced patience. "Face-to-face."

"I'm sorry," Mihashi says in a rush, like he's been holding the words back.

Abe feels something twinge in his chest at the fear that lurks in Mihashi's voice. _I have to fix this,_ he thinks. "I'm not...look, Mihashi," he says, swallowing. "I'm not angry at you. I was just really tired. We're all really tired. Come back."

After a moment Mihashi whispers, "Okay," and then the line goes dead.

Abe flops back onto his bed, his body feeling weirdly light with relief.

\--

The door is already cracked open when Mihashi arrives at their room, which makes him pause.

He reaches for the door handle, fingers twitching with nerves, before it swings open without being touched. Abe is framed in the doorway. "Mihashi?" he says. His eyes are red-rimmed and his voice is dull with exhaustion.

Abe is already in his sleepwear: boxers and an oversized t-shirt. Before Mihashi can say anything— _sorry for keeping you awake,_ or _thank you for letting me in_ —Abe closes a hand around his wrist and tugs him inside.

Abe flinches when he turns the light on, but doesn't let go. Mihashi allows himself to be led to his bed and pushed to sit down, looking up at Abe now standing over him.

Abe scratches behind his ear, frowning. "Okay," he says. "Let me talk first and then you can say whatever you want." Mihashi nods cautiously, and Abe's gaze drops to the side.

"I'm, um. I'm shouldn't have done that," Abe says, folding his arms and leaning back. "I mean, I shouldn't have yelled at you. Like that. I know dancing isn't your strong point, and anyone could see that you're trying hard, you're always staying afterwards for extra practice on your own. So when I yelled at you, you—didn't deserve it. I wasn't thinking. It was stupid of me."

Mihashi stares blankly. Abe's eyes flick to see his reaction, and then skitter away.

"I'm trying to apologize, okay?" Mihashi continues to stare, and a blush dusts across Abe's cheeks. "What?" he demands.

"No one's ever apologized to me before," Mihashi tells him, too surprised to be anything but honest.

Abe groans and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. When he looks up again his expression is weary. "So are we okay?"

Mihashi cocks his head, really _looking_ at Abe. He's a bit stocky, and the lines of his body focus on strength, not elegance. But his grace is clear the moment he moves, in the fluid way he shifts from one gesture to the next, in the way his dancing seems powerful and effortless. Abe talks with his body more than his voice, and what Mihashi reads in that silent language is _I'm sorry,_ so that's what Mihashi believes.

"Yeah," he says, reaching out to gently brush the back of his hand across Abe's fingers. "I'm—fine."

It's the first time Mihashi has ever instigated touching Abe, and a part of him wonders at his own bravery. But all Abe does is breathe out, slow and heavy, and turn his hand so that their fingertips are lightly touching.

"Let's go to sleep," Abe says, and Mihashi nods, watching Abe move back to the light switch and return the room to darkness.


	3. Seishun Line

After two and a half years of training, Mihashi is finally in the recording studio.

The live room is so silent that he can hear himself breathing. Mihashi looks at the soundproofed walls, the one window that looks into the control room, and pauses when he sees Abe through the glass.

Abe nods and gives him a thumbs up. Mihashi tries to smile back, but he doesn't think it works right because Abe's eyes narrow with concern.

"Ready?" comes the sound engineer's voice through the speaker on the wall. Mihashi likes him—Shiga is an older man with square, no-nonsense glasses and a soft smile. He patted Mihashi lightly on the shoulder after leading him inside the live room, and Mihashi felt some of his nervousness subside.

Mihashi nods in response before returning his gaze to the microphone before him. His hands reach up to shift the headphones he's wearing and he hums a quick run of notes, his voice lilting up and down the scale with ease. His throat has felt good since this morning. His body feels light and tingling with excitement, just like before a singing competition.

"I'm r-ready," he calls, trying to sound confident. The engineer nods back and the green light goes on, indicating that they're recording.

His fingers tap the beat against his thigh as the instrumental pours through the headphones. Once it's his cue he leans forward, drops a breath into his lungs, and sings. 

Mihashi couldn't stop his body from moving if he wanted to. He sways in time to the ebb and flow of the song, his voice rising in intensity for his sections and and softening for the harmonies. The bridge is his alone, though: a tricky ripple of notes in a minor scale.

("Are you sure?" he'd asked, wide-eyed.

Hanai had clapped him on the back. "You're our ace in the hole," he said. "If anyone in Nishiura can sing that, it'll be you.")

The majority of the song isn't overly difficult, but it's fast. Mihashi tries to imagine singing it while dancing, and it makes his brain hurt. His voice warbles a little and he breaks off mid-note, clapping mortified hands over his mouth.

The instrumental stops. "Do you need to take a break?" Shiga asks, his voice tinny through the speaker. "Some water?"

Mihashi shakes his head. _Focus,_ he thinks. _You're the ace._ "No," he says, bowing towards the window. "I'm very sorry, please let me try again!"

This time he nails it, his voice rising to a high, sharp shout on the last word. Eyes still closed, he takes in a deep, shaky breath, his head feeling clear and light for the first time in days.

He pulls off the headphones, not noticing how it causes his hair to rumple in all directions. He catches a glimpse of Abe's pleased expression and smiles back— _really_ smiles, straight from the heart. He thinks it makes Abe's eyes widen, but in the darkness of the control room he can't really be sure.

\--

Hanai groans, "Tajima, _no—_ " 

Tajima, heedless, jumps onto his back with a gleeful cry. Hanai leans forward to balance the added weight, grumbling.

Mihashi is slumped against the wall and breathing hard. Abe walks over and taps a bottle against his shoulder, making him glance up. "Stay hydrated," he says as he passes the bottle over, watching until Mihashi opens it and takes a few swallows of water.

Abe slides down the wall to sit beside Mihashi, watching Tajima laugh with his arms wrapped around Hanai's neck. He turns and sees Mihashi watching them too, transfixed. 

Mihashi notices Abe's gaze a second later and hastily drinks another gulp of water. "They're a-amazing," he says.

"I guess that's one word for it," Abe replies, watching as Hanai staggers towards them. His muscles are bunched from the strain of carrying Tajima, and Abe calls, "We're supposed to be taking a break, you know."

Hanai kneels down once he's reached them and Tajima obligingly rolls off his back to lie spread-eagled on the floor. "How're you holding up?" Hanai asks Mihashi, not winded at all.

Mihashi nods furiously, halfway through taking another swallow of water. He sets the bottle down and swipes at his mouth and then adds, "Good. I think—I think I'm starting to get it."

"Awesome," Hanai says, clapping him on the shoulder. Mihashi flinches a little but responds with a shaky smile.

"Can I..." His eyes dart from Hanai to Tajima, and then back again. "Can I ask you a question?"

Hanai blinks at him as Tajima rolls to sit up. Abe turns too, his interest piqued. 

"Shoot," Hanai says.

"You and..." he gestures between Tajima and Hanai. "Both of you," he says. "How are you so comfortable with..." 

Abe watches the back of Mihashi's neck light up with a blush, distantly fascinated. Hanai seems bewildered but Tajima beams.

"You mean the skinship!" Tajima says. "We're already having sex, so it's no problem for us."

Now Hanai is the one to turn bright red. _"Tajima!"_ he hisses.

"What?"

Hanai groans and buries his face in his hands.

"I definitely didn't need to know that, but I appreciate the honesty, I guess," Abe mutters, raising one hand to rub at his temple. Silently he adds, _It gets so cramped on tour, it's not like we wouldn't have figured it out anyway._ "Just tell me you won't do that when we're around, all right? I need to sleep. So does Mihashi."

"Yeah, of course," Tajima says, totally unbothered. Hanai looks like he wants to melt through the floor.

Mihashi, for his part, is flicking nervous glances at Abe out of the corner of his eye. Once Abe catches on as to why he, too, starts blushing. He's quick to shake his head and wave his hands in front of him.

"N-no, we don't have to do that," he says. "What we've got now is fine."

Mihashi looks visibly relieved. 

Tajima perks up at that. "What _do_ you have now?"

Abe swallows hard. "Well, um—" he doesn't know how to summarize the weeks of tentative touches and brief one-armed hugs. But to his surprise, Mihashi reaches out and grabs his hand.

"We can do this," he stammers. His hand is sweaty from the last two hours of dance practice, but his grip is strong. Abe squeezes back without thinking.

Tajima's eyes widen as he grins. Then he extends his own hand, and after a moment of hesitation Mihashi gently gives it a tentative high five.

"Awesome!" Tajima says.

Hanai's looking at Abe, who's smiling faintly. After a moment the smile fades, though, and Abe gets to his feet. Mihashi's hand slides from his, leaving a tingling warmth in its wake. "Let's get back in gear," he says. "We don't have much practice time left."

\--

Abe should have known things weren't going to last.

"This is the coreography," Abe says, trying not to snap. _This isn't my fault,_ he means. Mihashi flinches anyway.

Abe takes a deep breath, counts to five, lets it out slowly.

This is not the first time they've done this routine, and even Abe was satisfied by their progress when they wrapped up last night. But this is the first time they've performed it with a real audience: the MV's director is here with his entourage of assistants, along with the regular coreographer and a few others who will go with them when they're on tour. The room feels overheated from the presence of so many extra bodies.

Mihashi is a mess, pale and trembling, eyes huge as he stares up at Abe. It's not that Abe is that much taller out of the two of them; Mihashi is just slumped back against the wall, fingers splayed against it as if he's trying to anchor himself.

This is the coreography, he reminds himself. Mihashi is his _assignment._

"Excuse me, can we have five minutes to set up?" Abe asks over his shoulder. The director makes an impatient dismissive gesture and turns away, already speaking to one of his assistants.

Abe's gaze slides over to Tajima and Hanai, and he briefly shakes his head: _I've got this._ Tajima folds his arms, accepting but watchful. Hanai meets his eye, taking in the two of them, before he nods.

 _Knock 'em dead,_ he mouths.

 _Mihashi's already halfway there,_ Abe thinks to himself. He takes a step back. "Breathe," he tells Mihashi. "You can't pass out. Listen to me, okay? Breathe in—"

Abe counts. Mihashi breathes in, slow, holds it for a few moments, and then lets it out even slower at Abe's direction. Abe repeats the exercise a few times, watching the trembling fade from Mihashi's frame until he's left with his normal timid expression.

"Better?" he asks.

Mihashi doesn't nod, just continues to stare at his shoes. 

"Stop that," Abe mutters, and Mihashi's eyes jerk back to his face. _At least he's not crying,_ he thinks. "I'm not going to surprise you, all right? It's just like we practiced before." He tries to keep his voice steady, but Mihashi still looks frightened. "What is it? Are you scared you're going to mess up?"

Mihashi ducks his head and Abe knows he's got it. "You've practiced hard. You won't mess up. Here, I'll go through all the moves with you. We start like this—" but the second he starts to box Mihashi in with his arms, Mihashi's breathing accelerates.

Abe leans back again, his brow crumpling with frustration. _Stay calm,_ he orders himself. _Yelling isn't going to fix anything._ "Give me your hand," he growls anyway.

Mihashi peeks up at him, his gaze catching on Abe's open palm. It's held vertically in the space between them, about as non-threatening Abe can make it—a familiar gesture. Mihashi blinks, and some calmness returns to his expression.

He reaches his hand out, and Abe watches it tremble in the air. When their palms touch, he almost flinches at how icy cold Mihashi's hand is. _No good,_ he thinks.

"My hand feels warm, right?" Abe says. Mihashi nods, cautiously. "Close your eyes. Focus on my hand. Think about the warmth reaching you."

There's something rewarding in how quickly Mihashi follows his commands despite all of his trembling and flinching. Abe watches his face relax, his eyes staying closed, his lips softening until they part. Color returns to his face, and Abe feels his own shoulders loosen with—relief, he thinks. It's a weird sensation to associate with Mihashi, but he welcomes it all the same.

"I'm going to lean over you and put my other hand on the wall," Abe murmurs. Mihashi's eyes squeeze more tightly shut but he nods.

He braces his free hand on the wall just over Mihashi's shoulder and leans forward until their noses are almost touching. This close Abe feels like he could count Mihashi's eyelashes if he wanted to, dark shadows against his pale cheeks. Mihashi's hand is still warmer than when they started.

"I'm right here," Abe murmurs. "It's just me."

Mihashi jumps at the nearness of his voice but then eases. "A-Abe," he whispers.

They're close enough that he can feel Mihashi's sigh brush against his lips. Abe swallows, feeling his cheeks heat.

 _Focus,_ he thinks. "How are you feeling? Just like all the times we practiced, right?"

Mihashi nods.

"Open your eyes."

He does. Their hands are still pressed together; Mihashi's palm is nearly the same temperature as Abe's. Whether that's because Abe's hand has gone colder or Mihashi has warmed up, he can't tell anymore. He thinks it might be a mixture of both.

"I'm going to start. All you have to do is follow me," Abe says. "You can do that, can't you?"

Another nod, more confident this time. Abe nods back.

"Sorry," Abe calls to the waiting crowd. "We're ready to start."

There's another pause where the director's assistant prepares the camcorder and everyone else is settling into place. Abe uses it to pull his hand away from Mihashi's, returning it to its proper position just above Mihashi's other shoulder. Before it reaches the wall, though, his hand detours, brushing a lock of hair away from Mihashi's face.

He didn't mean to do it. It just happened. Mihashi blinks and then turns terrifically red. Abe thinks his own face must match. 

"Focus," he hisses. "Just like practice."

"Just, just like practice," Mihashi echoes. "Abe."

Abe opens his mouth to respond—with what, he doesn't know—but before he can say anything the coreographer is already calling the beat. 

The music starts and Mihashi's head turns, a shy glance towards the camera and down. Abe leans in closer still, lips almost brushing Mihashi's neck, before doing a slow body roll that brings him milimeters from Mihashi's body.

Despite the fact that this is even more explicit than simple hand-holding, the intimacy of moments before has evaporated. This is all business. This is years of training and body control that keeps Abe's hips milimeters from Mihashi's as he rolls one more time, a sinuous wave from his head to his feet. Then Abe falls back onto the floor, pushing himself into a slide away from Mihashi. Mihashi takes a step forward; their eyes lock; Mihashi flings his arms wide; his mouth opens, and a song pours out.

Mihashi's voice is quiet, considering the drama of his movements. Since this is a rehearsal and the MV is dubbed over anyway, there's no reason to strain his voice here. But the passion of the song is still reflected in the glint of his wide eyes and the way he stalks forward again, again, chasing Abe across the hardwood floor. Abe slithers on the ground before him, staying barely out of reach, before the bassline drops and he leaps to his feet. They circle each other once before breaking apart, dancing separately and then in again, movements mirroring one another, arms and legs almost but never quite touching.

The coreography isn't long, only two minutes or so. Despite that, Mihashi is wheezing a little by the time the music stops, sagging out of his kneeling position to sit on his heels.

The moment they're done, Abe extends a hand to help Mihashi back onto his feet. Tajima is waving from the sidelines and even Hanai gives them a grin. Abe nods back, not restraining his self-satisfied smile. That was the best performance they've ever given, he thinks. The audience probably added to that.

Mihashi is way too winded, though, considering the short length of the routine. "Calm down," he says, "we're done for now, it's Tajima and Hanai's turn." Mihashi nods but his face is still flushed a brilliant crimson. A smile wobbles onto his face.

"It was okay?" he asks.

Abe blinks at him, and then grins. He pulls Mihashi into a sweaty one-armed hug, feeling the press of heat all along his side. "It was great," he says. "You did great."

Mihashi's shaking doesn't cease, but when Abe looks down he can see the pull of a smile on his cheeks.

\--

The throbbing music is almost grating after how many times Mihashi has heard it. They're finally in recordings for their teaser MVs, and Mihashi blinks slowly where he's curled up against the wall, feeling numb with exhaustion. He doesn't know how many hours he's been awake now, the four of them working on take after take until their performances are perfect.

The set is cold, or maybe Mihashi's metabolism has turned off. Either way he huddles tighter into himself, hoping they finish soon, hoping they'll be deemed good enough to be allowed to sleep at last.

He jumps when a warm body cuddles up against him. "Here, share," Tajima says, tossing half of a blanket over Mihashi's bare knees. "It's warmer this way."

"T-thanks," Mihashi mumbles, tugging the blanket so that it covers him from his toes to his chin. It takes more effort than he thinks it should. "How is..."

"Abe and Hanai are dancing," Tajima confirms. "Their ninth take now. Abe slipped last time, and before that Hanai missed the..."

Mihashi tunes him out, squinting in an attempt to make his tired eyes focus. There; there is Abe, moving in seamless syncopated rhythm with Hanai. Their movements are slick and polished and their skin shines with sweat, even though it's so cold. _Amazing,_ Mihashi thinks blurrily. _Abe is amazing._

"Yeah, he is," Tajima says, and Mihashi stirs a little, not realizing he had said that aloud. "They look really good."

Tajima's voice is plain and admiring, but Mihashi rouses a bit more at the words. He squints harder, watching the way Hanai and Abe's bodies twist and move, Abe slipping neatly into the spaces Hanai inhabited seconds before.

"—Hey, you okay?" Tajima says when Mihashi buries his head under the blanket. "What's wrong? Are you that cold?"

Mihashi doesn't respond, staring at his clenched fists in the blanket's semi-darkness. _They look good,_ he repeats to himself. _Abe is amazing, he can look good with anyone. He doesn't need..._

Then he shakes his head, opening his hand to stare at his palm. _No. No, Abe is my assignment. We're partners. That's what he said._ But the sticky, anxious feeling won't dislodge itself from his throat no matter how hard he thinks about it.

The light suddenly brightens again. Tajima has plucked the blanket from his head and is blinking at him. "You look bad," he announces. "Hey, Shinooka! Mihashi looks really bad."

The coreographer comes over in response, her eyebrows furrowed with concern. Mihashi blinks at her as she places a cool hand against his head and sucks in a breath through her teeth. "He doesn't look good," she agrees, her eyes flicking across Mihashi's face, "but the director doesn't want anyone to leave until we're finished. We're almost done. Mihashi, can you hold on a little—"

"What's wrong with Mihashi?" a familiar voice cuts in. Abe's before him in an instant, still breathing hard from the exertion of dancing moments before.

"Hey!" Mihashi hears someone shout from behind him. "What are you doing, we'll have to start from the top again—"

"You need to rest," he tells Mihashi, who can only nod as Abe seizes his shoulders. Abe turns to the director, irritated. "Can't you see how exhausted he is? It's going to ruin his voice if you don't let him rest now!"

The director storms towards them, arms waving, but Abe is already pulling Mihashi upright. The room spins and Mihashi gives a distressed warble, flopping into Abe's arms. Abe catches him so easily, he thinks, as if he weighs nothing. A warm feeling suffuses through him, pushing the earlier darkness away.

Abe passes him to Tajima. "Take care of him," he hears Abe say over his head. "Hanai and I are going to finish this, and then we'll be with you soon. Did you hear me, Mihashi? You're going to rest now."

"Abe," Mihashi murmurs. "Abe, I..."

But he trails off before he can finish the sentence. The last thing he remembers is Abe's hand against the back of his neck, a warm and steady reassurance.


	4. Natsuzora

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for sticking with me this long! It looks like this fic is going to be five chapters now instead of four..., but I hope you like this chapter and can look forward to the (actual, for real this time, promise) last one.
> 
> Warning for of-age alcohol drinking in this chapter.

Mihashi knows the kind of magic that the company can work on a person, but seeing Nishiura's first promotion material photos is still surreal. He knows that he's looking at himself, or at least his silhouette, sandwiched between Hanai's familiar broad frame and Tajima's ridiculous (and ridiculously flexible) pose. Mihashi’s head is tipped back so that the indirect lights illuminate his jawline. It's not usually that sharp, he thinks, running a curious hand over his chin. At least, it doesn’t look like it when he stares at himself in the mirror in the mornings. Is it the lighting, or photoshop, or is it something he's just never noticed?

Tajima comes up behind him, his movements rustling loudly enough that Mihashi doesn't startle, and whistles when he sees what Mihashi’s looking at. "Hey, we look good! Like stars, huh?"

"Like stars," Mihashi echoes, still distracted. His fingers leave his face to trace over Abe's silhouette. He rounds out the group, his body dropped into a low and aggressive crouch, his knees nearly touching the floor. Mihashi's fingertips smudge across the spiky outline of his hair, then trace over his broad shoulders.

"A girl on the street asked for my autograph the other day," Tajima is saying. "It was super cool! I couldn’t believe she recognized me. She told me to say hi to the rest of you guys. What about you, Mihashi, have you run into any fans yet?"

Mihashi shakes his head. He hasn't left the building since their teaser MVs dropped. The ever-present crowd in front of the company dorms has started to attract girls holding _Nishiura_ signs, and he's afraid they'll be disappointed if they see what he's like in real life. He heard some of them calling Abe's name as he left the dorm to visit the convenience store, and it made his stomach hurt for hours.

He startles out of his thoughts again when Tajima leans his weight on his back, his fingers folding over the crown of Mihashi's head. "Hey, Mihashi," Tajima says. "You’re part of Nishiura. We wouldn’t be us without you, okay? See, there you are.” He reaches over Mihashi’s head to tap a finger against photo-Mihashi’s chest. "One of us."

Mihashi is quiet for another beat. Then he reaches out, folding his hand gently over Tajima’s, over the four of them. They all look so cool and confident. “Our songs are good,” Mihashi forces out. "I like singing them."

"Yeah!" Tajima says.

"Abe’s dancing is amazing. Tajima’s, too. And Hanai's so good at everything." Tajima laughs. "I want to stand on a—stage, with you. All of you. And—sing."

Tajima’s weight lifts off of his head and before he knows what’s happening, Mihashi is being yanked out of the chair. Tajima is grinning, wide and happy, and he grabs Mihashi’s hand and pulls them along.

"Come on!" he’s saying. "We’ve got practice now, everyone’s waiting. We’re gonna show everyone how amazing we are. We’re gonna debut at number one. We’re gonna take over the whole country!"

When Tajima says it, the goal seems tangible. _The whole country,_ Mihashi thinks, stumbling in Tajima’s wake. He imagines a sea of lights filling a whole stadium and starts to smile himself.

\--

They're banned from leaving the dorms the day after that. "Your first EP is dropping next month," their manager Momoe tells them. "This is a critical time. We have to manage your image very carefully right now. It's only another week or two. Be patient."

But patience has never been Abe's forte. He stares glumly at the plastic bags from the convenience store, wishing he'd spent his last outing on something a little more worthwhile. His eyes are tired from staring at his computer, so he's trying to catch up on the backlog of books he said he'd always get to if he had a chance, but it's more an exercise in frustration than anything. He swears he's read the same sentence six times already.

Mihashi picks up on his stormy mood, of course. He shuffles awkwardly in Abe's peripheral vision until Abe snaps at him to stop fidgeting. Then he retreats to his bed and sits stock-still except for his eyes, which blink and blink, his gaze darting to the corners of the room but always returning to Abe. 

Abe can feel the weight of Mihashi's stare on the back of his neck. It prickles like a sunburn, irritating. _Calm down,_ he hisses to himself. _Don't startle him—_

"Can't you do something productive?" he snaps. 

Mihashi squeaks and Abe wants to kick himself. So much for that. He tries again: "It's _not you—_ "

"I—I know!" Mihashi bursts out, which is such a surprising response that Abe actually turns to look at him. Mihashi's face is red. He licks his lips. "I know," he repeats. "But I...I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything." 

Mihashi just shakes his head.

Abe waits, but Mihashi doesn't say anything more. His gaze is flicking everywhere again. "Okay," Abe says slowly. "I'm probably just going to read for a while. Why don't you go for a walk around the building, or something?"

Mihashi seems to consider this. Then his eyes light up, but Abe is already shaking his head. "Don't sing!" When Mihashi's face falls, Abe gives him a wry smile desipte his terrible mood. Mihashi is so obvious. "You have to save your voice," he reminds him. "You already had vocal training this morning."

"O-okay," Mihashi says. "I won't. Sing." He gets off of the bed, slipping from the sheets with a whispery sound, and moves to pull on a shirt and paw halfheartedly at his hair, trying to get it to stop sticking up in every direction. It doesn't really work, but at least Mihashi's nervous energy is dissipating from the room, giving Abe enough space to breathe. He turns back to the book he was reading, half of his attention focused on Mihashi's soft getting-ready noises.

He actually manages to make it through a paragraph before he hears a little cough by his shoulder. He glances up and Mihashi is hovering there, clutching a CD in his hands.

"Um," he says. "Kanou used to let me listen to this when I was—feeling down. I thought, um. Maybe you'd..."

Apparently having used up his words-for-Abe quota for the day, Mihashi shoves the jewel case onto Abe's desk and flees before Abe can say anything.

He looks down at the CD. It's got handwriting he doesn't recognize, listing a band he doesn't know.

"That idiot," Abe muttters, his hand closing over the gift. "I don't even have a CD player."

\--

He's on a walk, Mihashi's brain keeps saying on loop. Abe told him to go for a walk, so he is walking.

The dorm's hallways are narrow and a little claustrophobic. It always reminds Mihashi of an ant colony, everyone so busy and running everywhere. He's the slowest person, it seems; everyone keeps passing him.

He ends up wandering into areas he doesn't often go to. In the last two years he's been to every place in the building—looking for hiding spots or places to practice without interruption—but since he joined Nishiura he's been so busy in their assigned dance studios and recording rooms that he's barely gone outside of that little bubble.

Mihashi finds an old vending machine that eats his coins and spits out a candy bar. He hears a little voice in his head that sounds like suspiciously like Abe's, telling him not to eat it—chocolate is bad for the voice—but they're not performing for another few weeks so it should be fine. He bites into it, savoring the burst of sugar on his tongue, and then nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears someone say his name.

His head turns to the side slowly, unable to shake the feeling of being caught. Kanou is standing there, his head cocked, looking at him with that mixture of concern and confusion that Mihashi is so familiar with.

"Shu—!" Mihashi garbles through a mouthful of chocolate. Kanou makes a face. Mihashi realizes why, after a moment, and turns away to chew and swallow.

"Sorry," he says, turning back and wiping a hand over his mouth.

Kanou stares at him for another second and then he snorts, his shoulders relaxing. "I guess you're the same as always," he says.

"Shu—Kanou," Mihashi says again, blinking, his stomach filling with familiar sensations: dread, pre-emptive apology, excitement. "I'm sorry I haven't..."

Kanou nods. "Yeah, it's been a while. But we've been busy too. Everyone's buzzing about your debut," he says.

Mihashi fidgets by way of response, but Kanou's used to his quirks; he waits, dark eyes fixed on Mihashi's even though Mihashi keeps his gaze cast down. "I'm...sorry," he says, finally. "I— I know I messed everything up."

Kanou sighs, and the sound makes Mihashi flinch back. When he looks up again Kanou is studying him, his arms folded. "I'm glad I saw you here," he says. "I wanted to talk to you. I'm the lead singer now that you're gone."

"Oh," Mihashi says. The idea of Kanou taking his place fills him with relief, more than anything else. "Are you...is Mihoshi...?"

"We're fine," Kanou says. His expression has always been unreadable to Mihashi, the same flat, perceptive stare that's as understanding as it is challenging. "They added some new members. Our manager says we might debut in the next six months to a year."

Mihashi feels something cold settle in his gut. Mihoshi is better off without him there, just like he always knew it would be. A soft noise bubbles from his mouth, and he starts to turn away, when he feels fingers clutching at the short sleeve of his t-shirt.

He looks back and Kanou is still looking straight at him, his focus intense and almost oppressive.

"But you're debuting _first_ ," Kanou says. His voice is low, shot through with frustration. "You joined Nishiura six months ago and you're already good enough to debut, faster than the rest of us. Don't you know what that means?"

Mihashi's eyes widen, but all he can do is shake his head. Kanou's hand fists tighter, pulls him closer so that Mihashi sways forward onto the balls of his feet. It's not quite like when Abe manhandles him—Abe is stronger, for one; for another, Kanou only wants his attention. _Look at me,_ the gesture says.

"You were always coming in second at all those competitions," Kanou says. "Do you know why? It's because your stage presence sucks. You believed all the awful stuff everyone kept telling you. But you—" he jabs a finger into Mihashi's chest. "You can _sing,_ Ren."

It's what Kanou has always told him. Kanou used to sit with him against the mirrors after dance practice, when Mihashi was so tired that he couldn't stop the tears from rolling down his face, and say that to him over and over. _But Mihashi, you can sing._ Kanou's a singer, too, his range lower than Mihashi's, less polished, but Mihashi could always see his talent from leagues off. Kanou is his junior but Kanou is always gaining on him.

"Doesn't this prove it, more than anything? That you've got what it takes to be here?"

It takes a few moments before he realizes that Kanou is waiting for an answer.

"Um," he starts. "You...you sound like Abe."

Kanou's grip slackens. "Abe?"

"My—" _assignment,_ he almost says, but the word doesn't fit right on his tongue—too many syllables, too formal. He swallows it down and tries again. "My partner," he says. "In Nishiura. He's always saying—stuff like that, stuff like...he pushes me really hard, because he says he believes in me," he says. "The rest of the group is always with me too, pushing me, or...encouraging me..." Mihashi drifts off, thinking about Hanai's confident smile, the way sometimes Mihashi will start singing under his breath and Tajima will start rapping along without missing a beat. "They're my friends," he says. "I can debut because of them. With them."

He doesn't notice that Kanou's released him fully and stepped back, eyes studying his face. He's caught up on the sudden wave of his own eagerness, to tell Kanou what he's found here, to express the thoughts he's been turning over for the past month but too afraid to speak aloud.

" I want to...to do more than sing, now," he tells him, his voice wobbling. "I want to stand on the stage, with them. I don't want to give the stage up to anyone. I want us t-to be number—one!"

It is probably the longest speech Mihashi has ever given in Kanou's presence. He falls silent, suddenly realizing what he's said, and starts to turn red. Kanou's face is a study in expression, though—flickering through too many emotions for Mihashi to name. It settles on something close to a frown, eyebrows pinched with the corners of his mouth turned down.

"You're different," is all he says. He looks down for a second, at his fingers that are twitching as if they still long to be curled in the cloth of Mihashi's shirt. "You said his name was Abe? Your new partner?"

Mihashi nods, a rapid bob of his head. "He's a dancer," he says.

Kanou nods, still looking at his fingers. Then he takes a deep breath. When he looks up at Mihashi again, it's with a stubborn lift of his chin, the determination that Mihashi's so familiar with etched into his posture. "I have a new partner, too," Kanou says. "Mihoshi's changed. We're stronger than before, and I am too. I won't let you take the top spot so easily, Ren."

Mihashi looks at Kanou's open, challenging expression and is surprised by his own lack of fear. He imagines Abe and Hanai and Tajima behind him, supporting him, and smiles. After a moment, Kanou starts to smile back. 

When he extends his hand, Mihashi takes it, only to yelp in surprise when Kanou pulls him into a hug. "I was worried about you," he says when he lets go. "You didn't answer my messages."

"Sorry," Mihashi mumbles. "Can—is it okay if I still call you Shu?"

Kanou makes a face, like he can't decide between being embarrassed or pleased. "Of course it's fine," he says. "I'm going to be late to practice. But I'll see you around."

He turns away before Mihashi calls out, "Wait!"

Kanou casts a glance over his shoulder. His eyes are suspiciously wet, and the sight makes Mihashi feel choked up, even as he tries to smile.

"Good—luck," Mihashi says.

Kanou says nothing for a long moment. Then he jerks his head once, nodding, before he breaks into a jog down the long hallway. Mihashi smiles at his back until he's out of sight.

\--

Abe jerks on his bed, flailing enough to dislodge the book that's on his face. _I must have fallen asleep,_ he thinks in a sleep-addled panic, _What time is it? Where's Mihashi?_ before he realizes that's his ringtone that's cutting through the air. He flips it open and groans, "Hello?"

"Abe!" Tajima's voice is loud through the phone, audible over the roar of a background TV. "Come to my room with snacks in the next twenty seconds!"

"That's impossible, idiot," Abe says, scrubbing a hand across his face. He feels disjointed from the unwanted nap, confused by the darkness of the room. "What's going on?"

"We're debuting, of course!" Tajima says. "So we have to celebrate. I know you got snacks at the convenience store yesterday. Bring them over!"

"Get your own snacks," Abe snaps in reply.

"We can't, remember? We're trapped in the dorms."

Abe groans. "Thanks for reminding me. Hold on." He sets the phone down to strip off his sleeping shirt before a thought occurs to him. Plucking up the phone again, he asks, "Why don't we just order takeout or something? Anyway, is Mihashi there already?"

"Oh, he's not with you? I'll call him next, then. Get over here!!" The line goes dead.

Abe finishes changing into clean clothes but pauses on his way out the door, his eye lingering on the bag of chips on his desk. After a moment of internal struggling, he heaves a huge sigh and grabs it.

"You brought snacks!" Tajima says with delight when Abe arrives, tearing into the bag with an unreasonable amount of crumpling noises.

"You told me to, remember?" Abe says. "Hey, leave some for the rest of us too."

Mihashi shows up twenty minutes after Abe does, his eyes shining and his cheeks still pink with exertion. "I went to exercise," Mihashi says, and Abe rolls his eyes because of course he found _some_ way to exhaust himself. He tells Hanai what he wants to order from the fast food place down the street and then settles in beside Abe without asking, as if he just belongs there. Mihashi's hair is damp, towel-dried—he must have stopped to take a shower before answering Tajima's summons. A curl of it sticks to Mihashi's cheek, and Abe fights the urge to unstick it from his skin and smooth it back into place behind Mihashi's ear.

He's taking this assignment thing a little too seriously, maybe. His mouth pulls to the side, not sure how to feel about that, before turning to take the laptop Hanai shoves at him so he can place his food order. Mihashi leans over as he scrolls through the menu options, curious.

"Curry udon?" Mihashi says, right against his ear. Abe doesn't even flinch. He shrugs instead, and the gesture moves Mihashi slightly where he rests his weight against Abe's body. Mihashi doesn't flinch, either.

"I like it," Abe says.

"Me too," Mihashi says. "It tastes good." His curiosity apparently satisfied, Mihashi turns away from the screen, but his weight remains pressed all along Abe's side.

Hanai has a cutting-edge video game system now; he mumbles something about it being a present from his parents for Nishiura receiving their debut date, sounding embarrassed. "It's not like I'll have time to play it once we start touring and stuff," he mutters.

"So let's play it now," Abe replies. They spend a while scrolling through the system's online store and end up buying a driving game, a fighting game, and a first person shooter. Mihashi does so terribly at FPS, though, that they only play a few rounds. Mihashi just hides in the corners of the map, trying to avoid being found, and can't seem to bring himself to actually shoot anyone.

It's Tajima who notices first, leading Mihashi to mumble apologies as he gently pushes the controller from his lap. 

"Hey, it's okay," Hanai says.

"I don't really like them, either," Abe says, his voice matter-of-fact. "Let's play something else."

"What do you want to play next, Mihashi?" Tajima asks, and both Hanai and Abe turn to hear the answer. At the sudden influx of attention, Mihashi turns pink.

"Um. The driving one?" he ventures.

The one they picked out was one Abe had seen advertisements for when surfing the internet, some sleek thing that blew all of their budget on CG and apparently left none over for bug fixes. Tajima learns how to minmax the game at a startling pace, clipping through the wall to zoom past Hanai. Hanai curses and slams the buttons harder, as if somehow that will make his car go faster, and Tajima laughs in delight as Hanai slams their shoulders together. Abe snorts and casts a glance over at Mihashi. He's in last place but seems to be enjoying himself, his eyes bright as he fiddles with the controller buttons, the tip of his pink tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. Abe's eyes follow the flashes of light from the TV screen as they spill across Mihashi's cheekbones, lingering on the quick movements of his fingers across the controller, and only jumps when Mihashi's back straightens. "I passed Abe!" he announces.

"What?" Abe says, swinging his gaze back to the TV screen. His car is stuck against a side wall, and _4/4_ displays clearly in the upper left hand corner of his screen.

"Way to go, Mihashi!" Tajima cries. "Help me beat Hanai!"

"In your dreams, Tajima," Hanai growls, a wicked grin stealing across his face as he leans forward, clicking at the controller buttons.

Abe sighs and starts to free his car from where it's stuck inside the wall, but then his cell phone rings. "Oh, the food's here. I'll get it."

"I'll come too!" Mihashi says, dropping his controller at once and scrambling to his feet. 

Abe blinks at him as he gets up, too. "Are you sure? You don't have to."

"I want to go," he says, eyes wide. 

"Okay, well. I guess we're going, guys."

"Have fun!" Tajima calls out. Hanai doesn't even respond, too busy trying to imitate Tajima's game-breaking trick and shooting his car off the level in the process.

It's immediately quieter away from the sounds of virtual car engines and shouting. The hallway has some traffic, but not enough to stop Mihashi and Abe from walking side-by-side. "It was nice of Tajima to invite us over," Mihashi says quietly.

"Yeah," Abe says, not really paying attention. His stomach isn't grumbling but the sharp ache of hunger is definitely unignorable at this point. They walk in silence for another minute before Mihashi speaks up again.

"Abe?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I h-hold your hand?"

Abe looks at Mihashi, surprised by the question. "To practice?" he says.

Mihashi doesn't answer immediately, and his brow actually furrows a little bit. "No," he says at last. "I just...want to."

Abe doesn't quite know what to say to that. It's a bit odd, but Mihashi is always a bit odd. It's definitely something that guys don't usually do, and Abe is acutely aware of that, but after that photoshoot where Mihashi and Abe had to pose shirtless and wet and all over each other, Abe can hardly say that bothers him much anymore. And some quieter part of him feels like it warms at Mihashi's quiet words. Upon thinking about it, Abe wants to hold Mihashi's hand, too. 

"Okay," Abe says, and then clears his throat a bit. He offers his hand into the space between them, fingers outstretched. "Yeah."

Mihashi's hand slips into his in the same way that Mihashi will enter a room: as if not wanting to displace even the air, not wanting to intrude. Abe's gotten used to Mihashi's quiet presence, and closes his hand around Mihashi's when it settles into his palm. Their linked hands swing between them as they walk. The weight of Mihashi's arm doesn't unbalance him like he expects; it actually feels kind of normal.

They drop hands when the get close to the door of the building, and pick up the food from the deliveryman with little fanfare. When they get back to the room, they see that the TV has switched over from video games to Netflix, and someone has broken out the alcohol and red plastic cups.

"Give me some," Abe says as he starts to lay the food out on the low table in the middle of the room, jerking his chin towards the bottle of soju. Tajima obligingly pours some for him while Hanai goes to grab some paper towels. "Mihashi, do you want any?"

"Um, okay," Mihashi says, nodding. The rest of the night is spent eating and drinking and talking, the room full of laughter and the noise of a forgotten movie playing on the TV. It's nearly 3AM by the time Abe decides it's time for them to go to sleep. "We've all got to wake up early tomorrow," he says, and his words are greeted by a round of groans. "Mihashi, can you get up?"

"Of course he can get up!" Tajima says, a little too loudly. His face is flushed and grinning.

"Yeah," Mihashi agrees, "I can get up." But he leans on Abe anyway as he stands, and stays close the whole way back to their room, resting more and more of his weight against him until Abe wraps an arm around his shoulders to steady them both. Mihashi is singing an old folk song that Tajima was teaching him earlier, his voice hoarse from the alcohol and his tongue tripping over the antiquated words. Abe joins in for the chorus despite himself, just the two of them filling the elevator with their impromptu duet. Then they both mess up the same word at the same time, and Mihashi bursts into giggles.

He's still giggling when Abe swings their door open, blinking at the sudden darkness. The two of them stumble into the room, neither of them bothering to get the light; Abe drops his keys onto his desk with a clatter as they pass. Mihashi is still singing as Abe tumbles him gently into bed and then heads to their bathroom. He fills a glass with water and then gulps it down before he refills the glass and brings it to Mihashi.

The light from the bathroom is enough for Abe to see Mihashi's face break into a happy smile when Abe comes close. He reaches out for Abe, who replies by pushing the water glass into his hands. 

"Don't spill it," he says. "Come on, drink something or you'll regret it tomorrow morning."

Mihashi drinks obediently, his eyes fixed on Abe's face as he swallows. Abe feels like his skin grows hot underneath Mihashi's heavy-lidded stare, and keeps staring as Mihashi finishes drinking and licks his lips.

Mihashi hands him the glass and he puts it down on the desk—next to his keys. This is his bed, he realizes. He put Mihashi into the wrong bed. He thinks about taking Mihashi's bed for the night instead, but something in him rebels at the thought, especially when he sees Mihashi snuggling down into his pillows with a sleepy, satisfied noise.

"It smells like Abe," he mumbles.

"I bet it does," Abe grumbles, too distracted to actually be annoyed. With a sigh he flips the sheets open—Mihashi makes an irritated noise—and slides in beside him. It's a tight fit on the narrow mattress, and Mihashi's elbows are bony when they poke into Abe's side, but it takes less shuffling than expected before they're both comfortable.

"Okay?" Abe says. He can't hide the nervousness in his voice. Mihashi looks at him, his eyes large; Abe realizes that he forgot to turn off the bathroom light, but like hell if he's getting up again. The light allows him to see the slow smile that breaks across Mihashi's face, anyway.

"Okay," Mihashi agrees. 

"You're beautiful," Abe blurts. Mihashi's expression slackens with surprise. "Hasn't anyone told you that?"

"It's the stylists," Mihashi mutters, sounding uncomfortable now. "It's not really me."

"Of course it's you," Abe says. His voice is quiet from the proximity but no less fierce for it.

"Oh," Mihashi says, his voice soft and a little wondering. "If you say so, Abe."

"I do say so," he says, feeling stubborn and uncomfortable; he shouldn't have said anything, he can't remember why he did. He can feel his eyes closing despite himself, the alcohol and the warmth of Mihashi's body pulling him down into sleep. "Good night, Mihashi."

"Good night, Abe," he hears, and drifts off to the feel of Mihashi's hand carding through his hair.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter titles are taken from oofuri's opening and ending themes. Comments/kudos are appreciated. :) (Edit 3 Oct 17, I'm still working on the last chapter! Hang in there!)


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